


The Morning Begins

by LadyThomasSharpe



Series: As You Love It [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Romantic Fantasy - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: F/M, Making Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 20:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyThomasSharpe/pseuds/LadyThomasSharpe
Summary: You've met Tom Hiddleston, had a delightful evening with him, made love with him. It's the next morning. What happens now?





	1. The Morning Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I love having these romantic fantasies. Many of them end up in my books. Some don't. This one may or may not, But it was certainly one that warmed me and lit me up inside. May I share?

 

 

The afterglow of last night’s love making has you still tingling as you drift up into wakefulness. You stretch, feeling every part of your body come alive after such a delicious night of sleep. That beautiful man may have just spoiled you for any other man to come. His long, slim, musician’s hands touched you everywhere, explored every inch of your body. Journeyed between your thighs where you were wet and pounding. Brought you to climax again and again, just with that hand. All the while kissing your lips while his actor’s tongue teased your mouth. Tasted your skin as he made his way down to suck your nipples. When he filled you with every inch of his manhood, you felt stuffed full of him. And still wanted more.

Lying on your side, you feel yourself getting wet again. Feeling the pounding again. Eyes still closed, you roll to your back, remembering the sensation of his body covering yours. The softness of his skin against yours, but his muscles, hard and lean against you. His kisses, sweet and tender one moment, wild and demanding the next. That romantic angel using such dirty words to get you hot and bothered in the moment. The gentleman scholar becoming an animal in the bed. You gingerly touch the bite mark on your neck, just under your ear where he marked you in the heat of your passion. You want more.

You roll to your other side, your arm automatically going out to curl around his chest...only to touch the pillow he’s put there to mask his absence. You open one eye, the fog of sleep finally lifting. _Tom?_ Only the scent of his cologne on the pillow remains behind. He’s gone. Your heart sinks into your stomach. He just left? No note, no goodbye? Were you so wrong about him? But he seemed so tender, so wanting last night.

There was never a promise of tomorrow made. You didn’t want it. You certainly don’t need it. To think that it might just have been only the alcohol that led to a lust filled romp in your bed? That hurt. You wanted to be a little more than a nameless one night stand. The first stinging tears slip down your cheeks.

Only then do you realize the shower has been running, and only after the water is silenced. You feel so silly. He’s in the shower. You quickly wipe the tears away. Had he said he had to leave early? Did you forget that? His morning run? Did he have to go to rehearsals? But he’s still here. He didn’t just leave.

 _Tom? I could join him. Maybe? No, wait. I don’t want him to think that I want more than he’s willing to give. Or take. Maybe this_ was _just a boozy one nighter. I can be happy with that. But… This man is different. Maybe all I want is a chance. Maybe._

You wait. As patiently as you’re able. Just as you’re thinking, maybe you should get up to find him, he walks into your bedroom. Thomas William Hiddleston. You’d met at the theater, the night before. An invitation from a friend in the cast, to come to a private viewing. A preview of the play. You went because you wanted to see _him_. The play was brilliant, the cast superb. But Tom was scintillating. Tom captured you in a way you never expected. He took your breath away.

There was a brief reception afterwards with wine and food. You met the director and talked about how much you loved the play. A former actor yourself, you were able to have an intelligent conversation about what you liked and what needed help. It wasn’t until Tom joined the two of you that you almost completely lost your powers of speech. But you regained the ability, and the conversation was on again with the addition of this brilliant and beautiful man. The blue-green eyes watching you intently. The man hanging on every word.

You drank wine together, eventually moving off to continue the discussion between only the two of you. It wasn’t too long before the conversation segued into Shakespearean works and theater. His side of the discussion became more animated as the two of you realized the mutual love you have for the subject. You never expected more than that. You didn’t think he’d ever be interested in you. After all, you’re not exactly the type of women he’s known for chasing after—classically beautiful, model thin, and ultra-feminine. You’re tall—not as tall as he is, perhaps, but still tall, a bit Rubenesque with definite curves and full bosomed; definitely not a model type. The conversation is more than enough for you.

But when the time came to go, and he not only offered to take you home but invited you out for a private drink first. To continue the conversation, he said. You jumped at the chance. When he pulled the Jaguar into your drive, you invited him in for a nightcap, never expecting him to accept. And when he did…. Another drink. More conversation, with a little bit of flirting. You got up to refresh his drink…to find him standing behind you. To feel his mouth on yours, his body pressing against yours. The drinks were forgotten as he swept you up into his arms, carrying you to your bedroom as you pointed the way. Laying you on the bed. Lying down beside you. Kissing you with growing passion.

Then, as now, the sight of him in the nude stirs your blood. So perfectly put together. That ass of his. A runner’s butt, firm and round and high. He bends over to find his clothing, flashing those cheeks. Sitting down on the edge of the bed as he lays his jeans and light blue sweater to one side. It’s taking everything inside of you not to reach out and touch him. Those long legs, muscled thighs. The flat stomach. _God, that body. That beautiful soul. Just to be with you for a while and I’d never ask for more than that. Just to be with you for a while._

“Tom? Are you leaving?”

He straightens up, hesitating. When he turns around, the smile is there. But it’s less bright. He’s chewing on something. He’s holding back, a wall now between you. “Yes, darling. I have to go.”

_What do I do here? What’s the right thing to do here?_

“You don’t have to, you know. You can stay a little longer, if you want.”

“I…really shouldn’t.”

You sit up, clutching the sheet over your breasts. You smile, trying to be relaxed. Inside, your heart is racing. Your stomach flip-flops like mad. “I understand. I won’t hold you. But you really don’t have to. I was kinda hoping to be able to cook us breakfast. It’s the only time I can ever get overly indulgent.”

There it is. The first spark of the wall coming down. It’s only a second before going back up. But it was a start. It maybe answers the question.

“That’s sweet, darling, but I really shouldn’t.”

You want to take the sheet down. If he gets another glimpse of your _attributes_ , maybe…and then immediately dismiss that thought. No, if he’s going to stay, he’s going to stay for the right reasons. Not because you lowered yourself to such a cheat. You keep yourself covered.

“Thank you,” you say simply.

He’s holding his briefs in his hand, but he’s not trying to put them on. He’s not moving at all. He’s just watching you, a bit wary. Unsure. _He’s checking me out, isn’t he. Truth time?_

“For what, darling?”

You won’t move either. Let it be natural. Find your way back to each other again. The cold light of day reveals so much of the truth. The reality. If it’s meant to be.

“For last night,” you answer, smiling at him. “For the lovely conversation. For…the beautiful night.”

“Oh,” he says, his face coloring slightly. “I had…it was a lovely evening for me too.”

“No, I mean it. You made me feel…well, you made me feel. It was a wonderful night for me. Thank you for that.”

He turns slightly, bringing one knee up on the bed to afford you another glimpse of his cock. Quiet and at rest. That beautiful dusky rose colored shaft, the foreskin covering the head. Just as lovely in the light of morning as it was last night in the dimmed light of your bedroom. His smile is very real now.

“I should be thanking _you_. It was a wonderful night for me too.”

You take the chance and put a hand on his arm. “Tom, I…I’m nervous too.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that. “Nervous? Why?”

“Because I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now. I don’t know if you’re just being polite or if you really mean it.”

“I….” he stammers.

“Tom? If all that happens between us is that I’ve made a really close friend, I’m okay with that. Really. If this amazing night is all that ever happens, it’s okay. Honest.”

He seems a bit taken aback by that. “You…?”

“I have my life, Tom. Meeting you has been a dream come true, because I think you are…amazingly talented. Even if what happened had never happened, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“And if I never see you again?”

You smile and shrug slightly. “My life will go on. I have my books to write and I will do what I set out to do when I came to London—absorb all the theater productions I can see. But my life will go on. And I’ll have wonderful memories of you.”

His posture relaxes and he turns a little more toward you. He takes the hand you’ve laid on his arm and holds it between both of his. “I don’t want to lead you on, have you thinking something that can’t really happen. I like you. You’re different.”

“Different?” you ask with a smile. “How?”

He takes a breath, thinking on that one. “You’re not like the others. You’re…real. You’re honest. You don’t seem the type to say things just because you think I want to hear them. Tell me what isn’t the real you.” He hesitates again before blurting out, “I knew the moment I met you that you were different. That I might be able to trust you.”

“If you want to. You can.”

His gaze finally meets yours again. “Look, I didn’t plan on this. I swear, I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t use you like that.”

“I know,” you tell him. In your heart, you truly believe him. “I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if anything can come of this.”

“Well, that’s for later. For now…just come back to bed.” You lie back on the pillows, raising the covers again. “Come on, I’m cold. We’ll just snuggle.”

His mouth works, as if he has something else to say. But he can’t say it for some reason.

“Come back to bed.”

That shy smile is back on his face as he tosses his briefs back on the floor. Sweeping the rest of his clothing off the bed to join them. He crawls back under the covers, snuggling up to you. You turn to lie half on, half off him. Your head on his shoulder and one arm casually lying over his chest.

“God, you’re warm,” you whisper.

He chuckles as he answers. “You really are cold.”

You kiss his cheek, pressing your breasts into his chest. “Told you.”

Tom kisses your temple, just below your hair. “You’re silly.”

“Hey, Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“I like you. I _really_ like you.”

“I really like you too.”

He turns you to your other side, to spoon around you. Holding you close. “So, what are you planning to do today? After I go?”

“Oh, I’ve got that rewrite to finish. Got a deadline, you know. My editor needs this manuscript in hand in two weeks. What about you? No rehearsals this weekend?”

He laughs softly, the small hairs blowing across your cheek from it. “No, I have weekends off. For a bit longer. I do have to leave soon. Get my run in. Then, spending the afternoon with my Mum. She’s invited me for lunch. After that…who knows.”

Your heart skips a beat. Do you dare? How to keep it nonchalant.

“Well, if you’d like…,” you start, keeping your voice easy and noncommittal.

“Yes?” he asks, a bit of the wary tone back.

“Well, I’m just thinking…. I got a roast to cook for the weekend. And I got a bigger one than I intended. I was just thinking, if you’d like to join me. You’d be welcome.” You turn your head slightly to look over your shoulder. “Beef roast with all the trimmings. I make a great Yorkshire pudding, too. And I’ve got a banana walnut cake for after…for pudding.”

“I…don’t know.”

“Okay,” you say, turning your cheek back to the pillow. His arm curled around your head. “No pressure. You’ve got plans. But if you change your mind, invitation is always there.”

He presses his cheek against your hair. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, shush and go back to sleep. I want a few more winks myself.”

You close your eyes, smiling to yourself. If he comes, he comes. If not….

When he leaves an hour later, he wakes you. The perfect gentleman. He even kisses you goodbye at the door, and you watch him pull out of the drive. Standing on your front porch, wearing your nightgown and robe—freezing your ass off in the London spring chill. You wave once more as he drives away, then scuttle back inside before you freeze your ass off. And your life goes on.

 

 


	2. The Evening Fair Glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then... Later on that day. Will he come back? Will you see him again?

 

 

_Tom peels your panties down, taking his time to uncover your glistening pussy. He nuzzles the thicket of hair above, inhaling deeply, as the silk and lace of your undies slide down your skin. Those beautiful long fingers gently rake the outsides of your thighs, your knees, and down your calves until he’s pulled them off and tossed them to the floor. Along with your dress and slip, and his shoes and socks and jeans. He kneels first, between your thighs, wetting one finger with his tongue and then tracing your labia. When he licks that fingertip again, it’s because your honey has covered it. And he licks it like a greedy little boy with a sweety in hand._

_His tongue darts from between his lips and he lies down on one side, barely scratching the insides of your thighs with his beard. Doing it on purpose. Gleefully doing it when he hears your squeaks and sighs as he does it. That mischievous smile on his face. Sucking your erect nub as if it were another nipple. Your fingers dig deep into the comforter on the bed as two of those long fingers go inside of you, nice and wet from your nectar. Bloody Aquarians, pussy teases, every one of them. But Tom…oh Tom…dear Tom._

_He wasn’t going to stop—and didn’t—until you’ve felt wave after wave of the pleasure filling your body. Starting in your womb, the heat filling your belly. Moaning deep in the back of your throat. Maybe it’s not the squirting orgasm you want to give him, but God help you, it’s a total and complete surrender of your senses. Sapping you of any ability to move. To speak. To breathe. Your mind fills with clouds, the soft diffused light in your head, and you have to close your eyes because you can’t see anything anyway._

_You want to take him now, give him the same pleasure but no. He stops you by taking your wrists in his hands as he shifts his weight to kneel again. Tom leaves go of one wrist as he reaches down to take a very erect cock firmly in hand. Guiding it inside of you. God, he’s_ huge _. Stretching you as you swallow the gasp of surprise that you don’t want him to hear. It doesn’t hurt…much. It just serves to remind you how long it’s been since a man has been in your bed and inside of your pussy._

_He seems to realize because once he’s full in, he doesn’t move. He takes your wrist again, holding both of your hands above your head. Kissing you softly. God, you want him to move. You want to feel him fucking you inside. Wanting him to—_

The kettle picks that moment to start that irritating whistle and you jump up, cursing wildly as you run to snatch it off the burner. “Son of a bitch,” you growl between clenched teeth and pour the damn cup of Earl Grey. “Fuck, I’m hard as…crap, my panties are wet again.” You add the small amount of honey and cream to the cup and stir it as you bring your libation to the table that acts as your desk. “Well, I can’t sit here in the wet spot.”

You pause just long enough to save what you’ve gotten done on the rewrite. Just in case. You go back into the bedroom and try to decide what to wear. Your usual writing attire—white and blue sweatpants with matching tee shirt—is soaked and stinking of very real sweat and cum. Hell, the aroma is putting _you_ off. You find the oversized tee shirt that you normally sleep in, in the laundry basket of freshly cleaned clothes, and put it on instead. The shirt comes down to mid-thigh, covering the clean panties underneath. But showing off a lot of leg. You dump your other clothes in the hamper. You’re dining alone tonight, you’re firmly convinced. Who cares what you’re wearing.

You dash out to check the roast in the slow cooker, mentally kicking yourself. You’re supposed to be finishing this final edit and rewrite. You have a deadline. What the hell are you doing, fantasizing about last night anyway? That’s only going to get you in trouble. Fantasizing leads to imagining, which leads to hoping and dreaming, and that leads to a great big fat let down at the end of it all.

“Never thought you were the type to go all weak in the knees, like this,” you grumble at yourself. “I’m acting like a giddy schoolgirl. How disgusting. No wonder he won’t back. I won’t blame him for not wanting to see me again. Not if I’m going to act like some groupie.”

_But he said you were different,_ that inner voice says. The one that always has to jump in when you’re being an idiot. _He said it. I heard him. He said you were different._

“Yeah, well. I screwed that pooch, didn’t I. Invited him to dinner. Fuck! I should have let _him_ make the first move. Talk about stupid.”

_You don’t know that,_ the voice says. _Give him time. He was interested. He likes you._

You don’t bother to respond to that one. There’s nothing more to say. You add the packages of gravy mix to the cooker, figuring another half hour and the roast will be done to a turn. The veggies will be perfect. The gravy will be thick and tasty. The Yorkshire Pudding is ready to pour into the pan along with some beef drippings from earlier. You have time for that. You taste for seasonings and add a little more salt and a little more powdered ginger, put the lid back on, and go back to your tea and your manuscript.

But the words aren’t sinking into your brain. You can’t focus on the damn story at all. All you can see is Tom Hiddleston’s face as he reaches his climax. Hear his soft sigh of release, making that face that a man can make—eyes closed and mouth open. His head dropping down, the curls in a state of disarray like a muddled halo. Covering his face from view. Until the grip his orgasm has on his body is finally released and he can look up again. Your fingers are unmoving on the laptop keyboard, still feeling his muscles as they tense up before they go lax. As his head drops again, this time against the pillow, this time as he pants into your hair.

That beautiful man is a walking, talking sex god. You fully understand how every woman within arm’s length seems to need to touch him. Needs to be touched _by_ him. The looks on the faces of the female audience last night. Priceless. Each one eyeing him with open lust and desire. Each woman licking her lips and the expressions of fantasies rolling in their heads. Of that body in their beds. Seeing his manhood at full attention. You watched him, working the crowd. The gentleman walking through them, talking to each one and making them feel like the only ones who had his attention. Then watched them as he walked away. Blatantly ogling him, admiring him, desperately wanting him.

You sip your tea, trying to clear your head. It’s not working. So, you pull out your _Plotting Notebook_ and take to writing it all down. Your notes of the event, the character descriptions and giving them fictitious names. But they’re really you and Tom. A loose plot line, full of the ups and downs of the romance. By the time the knock on your door has pulled you out of the trance you’ve fallen under, you have a complete novel outline. Ready to write.

“If I can get this one done and out to the editor,” you mutter with a sigh. You stand up and call out to whoever is at the door, “Coming. Coming.”

You’re not sure if you’re in shock or thrilled. Tom stands there, looking every inch the hottest man on two legs. Dressed in a casual pair of brown slacks, a black and not quite skin tight tee shirt, with a sports jacket that matches the slacks. He smiles, holding a bottle of something.

“I had nothing to do tonight and…well, your invitation sounded lovely. If you still want me here.”

You step back, rolling your eyes in amusement, opening the door a bit wider. “Of course, I want you. Here,” you quickly amend. “Come on in. I just have to set the table.”

You close the door behind him, locking it again. _He came. He’s here. Oh, holy crap, he’s here. He actually came. Just when I was so sure I’d never see him again. Holy…crap._

He holds out the bottle to you. “You said it was a roast, so I thought a good red wine would do the trick. I hope you like a good Shiraz. This one’s my favorite.”

You take the bottle from him, admiring the gift. You smile up at him and nod. “You know, I’ve never had it. I can’t wait to try it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Um….” You nod toward the sideboard acting as your liquor cabinet. “I don’t drink a lot, but I have a bottle of Glenfiddich and a bottle of Jamieson’s over there. Let me decant the wine while you pour us a small drink. And I’ll set the table.”

He makes his way over, then turns back to you. “Ice?”

“There’s a bucket. Bring it into the kitchen and I’ll get you some.”

You’ve got the wine in the decanter, stopper sitting to the side as you let it breathe for a bit, then set to getting the dishes out of the upper shelf of the cabinet. The cloth shimmies up a few inches. Something prickles on the back of your neck and you turn around to see him staring at you with something like hunger in his eyes. Holding the ice bucket and not moving. He licks his lips, sucking the lower one between his teeth. It’s enough to make you throb again, fill your belly with that heat again. Driving the hunger away. Only then do you remember that you’re not wearing more than the oversized tee shirt.

“Oh,” you sigh. “I should…probably…change. Clothes, I mean.”

“Please. Not for me,” he insists, a breathy quality to his voice.

“Um. Okay.”

Your skin is tingling with the electrical charge that seems to be flowing between you. If your face has the same look that his does, you’re both staring at each other the way a starving man would stare at a sandwich. You reach behind you, not sure why but then, you’re hardly capable of thought right now. You turn the slow cooker down to the warming setting and stopper the wine decanter. Tom opens the freezer door and just stuffs the bucket inside, not even looking at the ice trays.

You find yourself standing before him, close enough to feel the heat on his skin. He quickly sheds the sports jacket, holding it in his fist.

“Promise me one thing,” he murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“That we’re going to get to that roast. I’d hate for you to have cooked it and we not eat it.” This time, he steps closer. Close enough to feel his chest against your breasts.

“I promise,” you whisper.

You hop up into his arms, the jacket forgotten as he lets go to hold on to your ass. Your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist, you both kiss each other with a determined lust. His tongue is sweet as honey, the taste of tea and fruit in his mouth. He kneads at your ass, his fingers working as he pulls your hips closer to his. You can’t help but feel the erection he’s already sporting. _Holy God_ , you hear in your head. He really is well endowed. And you want it. You want it so bad and right now.

“Darling?” he says, gasping in between kisses.

“Yes?” And you can say nothing more.

“I should, but I don’t think I can wait for your bed. Would you think—”

“Shut up. The sofa is about fifteen steps behind you. Get me there. Now!”

You reach over your shoulder with one hand, pulling at the back of the tee shirt. Pulling it up and over your head. Brazen you, you’re not wearing a bra. You break the kiss long enough to pull the shirt off and throw it to the floor. By that time, he’s made the fifteen steps to lay you down on the sofa. He quickly rips the rest of his clothing off, adding it to the pile. Your panties now included.

Neither one of you is interested in foreplay or romantic gestures. The jungle heat fills both of you and you want none of it. He fills you up again, whispering your name as he thrusts deep. You cross your legs under the firm flesh of his ass, pulling him deeper inside. His cock filling you again, the feeling of stretching you inside feels so good this time. The place on your neck where he left the mark throbs in time with your heartbeat and it’s your turn to mark him. But not his neck. You bite on his shoulder, raking your teeth even as you rake your nails across his back. It spurs him on to take you faster, deeper, a little harder.

Your hips roll in time with his, meeting his with equal pressure. God, he feels so good inside. The heat rises to the point that you are about to combust into flames. He speaks your name again, a little louder. Gasping for air. The weight of him against you, both of you thrusting in synchronicity. You hear his name, over and over and over, and finally realize, that’s because you’re the one speaking it. Calling it. Biting into his shoulder and calling his name through your teeth.

So close now. So damned close to the explosion. He stiffens against you, his orgasm claiming his body once again, and the act spurs you on to your own. This time you do explode with him. This time, you feel the explosion of your juices splashing against his skin. Against your hips. Dripping down your thighs. Both of you, not quite in perfect union, but does that really matter? Who came first? Who came together? Who has melted into whose arms? As long as you both have. As long as you’re both in that afterglow together. Feeling the beating of each other’s hearts.

For the first time in your life, you completely lose yourself in your orgasm. God, that beautiful man has claimed your soul in more than just a love bite on your neck. He has stolen the breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, the very thoughts in your head. You feel limp in his arms. So completely satisfied.

“Hey,” Tom says, his voice less breathy now. “You with me?”

“Mmhmm,” you answer, feeling a bit disembodied. “Right here.”

“That bad?”

You open your eyes again, not realizing when you’d closed them. “Bad? Are you kidding me? More like that good. Damn, you are a sex machine.”

His lips meet yours softly. “You’re the only one that thinks so.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Your heart is pounding less vehemently in your chest, slowing down. Making it easier to breathe again.

He kisses you again. “You’re lovely to say so.” He turns you to your side, sliding behind you to spoon around you. Holding you close to him. “What is it about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What is it about you that I can’t keep my hands off you? That I can’t keep you out of my head?” He kisses your neck, the place where the bruise is just beginning to form. “Does that hurt?”

“Nah,” you fib a little. “Go on with that ‘can’t keep you out of my head’ thing.”

With a chuckle, he slides an arm under your head so that you lay against his shoulder. “I couldn’t focus. Having dinner with Mum and all I could think of was you in my arms. Buried inside of you, making love with you.”

“And your Mom didn’t notice,” you tease. You are secretly pleased. He was distracted too. With you. By you.

“God, I hope not,” he says.

That fills your heart. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. What did that mean? For a moment, your heart skips a beat again. As much as you like him. As much as you want him. Are you ready to give up your own independence for something with this man? Something that could be more than what it is right now? You’re afraid to hope for it but afraid not to. What if it’s not what he wants? What do you do?

“Darling? You all right?”

You turn your head slightly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… I’m fine.” You try to raise up, to sit up. “Hungry? Dinner’s ready.”

But he pulls you back down. “We need to talk first.”

“Oh.” You relax against him again, your turn to be wary. “Okay.”

Tom kisses your cheek. “I like you. I really like you. But…”

“I know. I’m not ready for a relationship either,” you admit. And wait.

You feel him nod and settle in, holding you close again. “But I know I want to be with you. For as long as this lasts.”

_Holy God_ , you hear inside your head again. “Okay. Me too.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I want us to be perfectly honest with each other. Always. I won’t lie to you. I won’t lead you on and promise you something that I can’t deliver.”

“Hey, Tom.” You reach back to rest your hand on his hip. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need protection. I told you, I have my own life too. But I would like you in it for a while. For as long as you want to be there.”

“I would like that too.”

You smile, gently caressing his hip and that side of that glorious ass. “Hey, Tom?”

“Yes?”

“I really, _really_ like you too.”

Dinner is a success. The wine is perfect. He even gushes over the cake you made. And then, there is more love making later, more sleeping in each other’s arms.

This may not be forever. This may not be serious. That’s just fine. But for now, you have a truly gentle man, a gentleman, in your life and in your bed. No strings, no expectations. But a mutual affection. And maybe one day, that’ll grow into something more. Maybe. But for now, this is perfect. He’s perfect.

 

**The End**


End file.
